


the place where you were in my heart is not closed

by shestepsintotheriver



Series: AUs [5]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Canon Disabled Character, Drunkenness, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff, Light-Hearted, M/M, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, One-Shot, Reunions, happiness, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23856835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shestepsintotheriver/pseuds/shestepsintotheriver
Summary: Steve and Bucky used to spend every summer together, but when Bucky didn’t turn up for his last year at summer camp, Steve had no way to contact him.Seven years later, a semi-drunken toast brings them back together.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: AUs [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1437799
Comments: 28
Kudos: 172





	the place where you were in my heart is not closed

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this while ignoring all my other WIPs and i have no regrets

Steve’s already more than a little tipsy when Tony asks. He blames the sidecars. Who the hell even serves sidecars at a college get-together? For that matter, what kind of college student even has cognac lying around all willy-nilly? The same college student who has a live-in butler, that’s who. (Technically, by virtue of living with Tony in the newly purchased house at one end of frat row, Steve _also_ has a live-in butler, but those are semantics that he doesn’t care to examine too closely. Tony can talk Steve into way too many things, up to and including children’s party games, which is why Steve is in this predicament in the first place).

“So, Rogers,” Tony says, a dangerous glint in his eye. “Truth or dare.”

“Truth,” Steve says. He’s not technically allowed to choose truth again, but he’s trying to avoid any dares. The last time he got a dare, he’d had to wear tights and booty-shorts for a whole day. He still gets lecherous looks and he blames Natasha completely. He’s hoping Tony will let it slip.

Luckily, he does. But only because he’s too curious for his own good. “Did you ever kiss good ol’ Bucky-boy back in the day?”

The rest of their friends _ooh_ s excitedly, because they’re all overgrown children. Thor, because he does not have volume-control when he’s drinking, _ooh_ s loud enough to get the frat house next door hollering, too.

“Why’d you have to get a house on frat row?” Bruce asks, peering intently into their esteemed neighbors’ yard. The brothers of sigma-Greek-whatever appear to be building a human pyramid. “There’ll be hullabalooing at all hours.”

“First off,” Tony squawks, derailed for the moment. “It’s _our_ house—”

“Yeah, Bruce, those twenty dollars we pay for rent and utilities per week are practically a mortgage,” Nat pipes in mockingly. She looks and sounds sober, but Steve knows she’s not nearly as clear-headed as she’s pretending to be, or she and Clint would be trying harder to hide their lovey-dovey glances. As if the whole house doesn’t know their friends-with-benefits deal has long since turned to lovers-with-friendship-benefits. Yes, that’s totally a term. 

“—second of all, ‘hullabalooing’? What are you, ninety? Third of all, of course it had to be on frat row, we have to establish dominance—”

“Please stop talking.”

Tony lets it go, but only because he’d rather poke at Steve than Bruce. “So? Yes or no?”

Steve rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “No, I didn’t.”

“But you wanted to, right?”

“Technically, I do not have to answer that question.”

“Uh, I think you technically _did_ just answer that question, bossy-pants.”

“Why did you never try to reach out to him?” Clint cuts in. “I’m sure he’s got like, Facebook or something.”

“He does, I checked,” Natasha says, because of course she did, she’s a creeping creeper who creeps. While being creepy. “He’s very handsome.”

“You stop that,” Steve orders in his best _You Shalt Obey Me_ -voice. (You Shall? Thou Shalt? Never mind). It makes his friends snicker. He allows it, because he loves talking about Bucky. The sudden loss of him hadn’t changed that. “And I did try to contact him, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, we all know the tale of how you courageously broke into the camp councilor’s office, defeated the secretary with your puppy eyes, and managed to steal his phone number only for it to be a dead-end, but what all of us can’t quite understand is that _that’s it_?”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Bruce agrees, much too seriously.

“You never give up on anything,” Nat adds.

“Remember that time with the vending machine?”

“Or the student council protest?”

“Or the—”

“Okay, that’s enough, the point has been made.”

“We just want you to be happy,” Thor says, and it’s absolutely not fair that he’s looking at Steve this kindly. “We see how happy simply speaking of him makes you. Why not try to find him again?”

“I still don’t get why you’d never communicated outside of summer camp. It’s stupid,” Tony mutters.

Steve sighs. “I know, I know. It’s just… I’m sure it was a game or something at the time. We always had the next summer, and the next, and the next, and then suddenly, Bucky wasn’t there, and his number had been disconnected, and I just… I guess I didn’t want to know if he’d left ‘cause he got tired of me or something. Better to live with the memory untainted, you know? Like a, like Schrödinger’s mystery or something. I never regretted knowing him, and I didn’t wanna start.”

Tony cringes. “Oh God, please stop it with the puppy eyes, you know I can’t handle that, if you start crying, Clint’ll start crying, and then Thor’ll start crying because he wants to be included—”

“It’s true. I’m already starting.” Thor point to one perfect tear making its way down his cheek. “See? That’s talent, babes.”

“—and then I’ll break out in hives because my allergy to the full spectrum of human emotion is a real thing, and then Nat will start threatening people, and then Bruce will panic, and then Sam will have to deal with us in the morning, and you know how grumpy he is after a night of drinking with Rhodey.”

“I’m not crying. I’m _not_ , stop looking at me like that, Tony!”

“All I’m saying—all _we’re_ saying, Rogers, is that if you ever want to find that guy, we’ll help you. Like Romanov said, he’s a looker. Like. _Really_. What? She showed me a picture, what was I supposed to do, look away?”

“I truly don’t know why I’m friends with any of you. Except Sam. Sam is the best.”

“Yes, yes, yes, we’ve all seen the Epic Friendship Bracelets TM. Did we get through to you or not? You still don’t wanna try? Not even look at the pic—okay, stop baring your teeth at me, I’m too pretty to get maimed.” He raises his glass, because he wouldn’t be Tony if he didn’t push it one last time, and grins at Steve. “Anyway. To first loves. To Bucky!”

Rolling his eyes, Steve nonetheless joins in with his friends, shouting, “ _To Bucky!_ ” He drinks and hopes that wherever he is today, Bucky is happy. Hopes that he got to do everything he’d ever dreamed of when they were young, that he’s started plotting a course for the stars, that he’s gotten to eat his weight in toffee, and danced with someone who didn’t step on his toes like Steve always did. God, even at thirteen years old, Bucky had loved dancing, had lead Steve around their cabin and laughed like crazy. He’d always laughed so loud, had scrunched up his face when he did, especially his nose. Steve had kissed it once, right on the bridge, back when they were kids and kisses were innocent little things with no complications or messy infatuation behind them. Okay, maybe there’d been some infatuation, but Steve hadn’t known that then. 

They expect the cheering from their neighbors, because those guys will jump on any chance to be extra loud, and Thor’s voice really does cut through crowds like a hot knife through butter. If it hadn’t been for the fact that the whole street is partying, they’d probably be getting a few noise complaints. What they don’t expect is the lone, distant voice shouting, “ _What?_ ”

Steve freezes, sputters when his drink gets into his nose. He looks around wildly. Did someone just..? No, his friends have all paused, too, he’s not hallucinating—is it called hallucinating when it’s auditory? Semantics; that’s a question for later, for when they’re not all swiveling their heads around in an owl-like fashion to pinpoint the voice. Clint has already climbed Thor like a tree to perch on his shoulders for a better view.

The voice comes again, still a little indistinct from all the noise of the street, “ _Who said that?_ ”

Bruce eyes his drink. “What did you put in these, Tony?”

Steve, however, is scanning the mass of people filling the street, disbelief recklessly unraveling as pure, undiluted hope takes root inside him. It can’t be. Can it? No. Yes? No. But what if… what _if_? “ _Bucky_?”

“ _Who the fuck_?”

“ _Bucky_!”

“ _Where the fuck are you?_ ”

Down the street, he glimpses someone climbing the pedestal of the ugly statue that stands out in front of the oldest house on frat row. The guy is wearing an absolutely eye-searing Hawaiian shirt, which is why Steve catches sight of him. He’s tall and long-haired, broad shoulders and thick thighs. Though he is nothing like he used to be, Steve knows him instantly, viscerally.

This is a dream. He’s hallucinating. He’s _drunk._ Something has got to be going on that _isn’t_ rooted in reality, because this shit just doesn’t happen. He pinches himself, winces. No change. Oh, God, this is really happening. Holy _shit_.

Bucky Barnes surveys the street with an eagle eye, one hand comically held up to shade his eyes from the last rays of sunlight—or possibly to look more like a serious scout; the logic of drunk people isn’t to be questioned. Steve stands frozen, not daring to blink, not daring to speak.

And then Bucky spots him, too.

His eyes go wide, then narrow. He mouths a word that Steve can’t quite ascertain from this distance, but he’s fairly sure it’s his name. When Bucky starts hollering it seconds later, he knows it was. Scrambling from the pedestal, Bucky pushes his way through the crowded street, a small band of confused guys traveling in his wake. A Domino’s pizza delivery man nearly runs him down on his scooter, and Bucky, proving that you can take the boy out of New York, but you can’t take New York out of the boy’s cantankerous soul, shouts, “ _I’m WALKING here_!”

“I think I’m having my sexual awakening,” Steve confesses shakily to God and everyone. Thor curls his fingers around one of the belt loops on Steve’s jeans to keep him from tumbling over the balcony railing.

“You already had your sexual awakening, and it was over the same goddamn guy,” Tony says obstinately.

“Well, I’m reawakening, so shut up and let me enjoy it— _Bucky_!”

“ _Steve! Steve, stay there! I’m coming up!_ ”

“Oh God, he’s climbing the trellis,” Bruce says, sounding both horrified and intrigued. Nat is filming it and Clint is calling out scores, taking points whenever Bucky slips. Whether he’s cursing the trellis or Clint for deducting points is anyone’s guess.

With all the grace of a concussed raccoon, Bucky flips over the balcony railing, barrel rolls onto the balcony, and starfishes dazedly across the floor with a manic look in his slate-gray eyes. His gaze finds Steve immediately and Steve loses his breath. Bucky has got scruff on his cheeks and more structure in his cheekbones than Steve has in his entire life. All of his left arm appears to be metal—a very fancy prosthetic. Other than his Hawaiian shirt, which has little birds on in, he’s wearing ripped jeans and steel-toed boots. Steve would like to say that the song that gets stuck in his head at this moment is something romantic and awe-inspiring, like Hozier or Orville Peck, but for some reason it’s _Uptown Girl_.

“Stevie?” he breathes.

“Buck!”

“Stevie!” And then, almost outraged. “ _How are you tall?_ ” Steve laughs. He can’t help it. “Stop laughing at me, Steven Grant Rogers, I will kick your ass!”

“Bucky.” Steve’s not crying, he’s just really happy. Wildly, incandescently happy. He rushes forward, pulls Bucky up and gently cups his face. “Buck, you’re _here_.”

“ _You’re_ here, Stevie, God, where’d you go?” Bucky says, hands hovering over Steve like he’s afraid to touch.

“Where’d _I_ go? Where’d _you_ go?”

“I went to your old address when I came to New York, but you weren’t there—”

“God, Bucky, I tried calling, but your number didn’t connect—”

“Christ, would you hug already, this is just painful,” Nat butts in.

“ _Oi_!” a new voice calls from the lawn. It’s one of the guys who’d followed in Bucky’s wake. Steve’s friend rush to look down while Steve and Bucky roll around on the floor, laughing and babbling and sniffling— _not_ crying! “Is the door open, or are we gonna have to scale this thing, too?”

*

Bucky’s friends are a snarky, merry bunch, and later, Steve will enjoy getting to know them. For now, however, he’s too busy looking at Bucky, beaming at Bucky, reaching out to touch Bucky again and again and again, and Bucky isn’t much keener to leave his side and do the proper introductions.

Besides, with the alcohol flowing freely and the warm welcome offered by Steve’s friends, Bucky’s friends aren’t likely to regret having followed Bucky here. Jacques and Gabe immediately strike up a friendship with Thor, Monty and Nat grin at each other in a way that promises only trouble, Morita snarks at Tony and Clint, and Bruce and Dum Dum fall into easy conversation about… bees? Everything is beautiful and nothing hurts, and Bucky is here, he’s _right here_ , it’s been _so long_.

The matter of the past is quickly laid to rest, explained and interspersed with heartfelt vows that neither of them had ever meant to leave the other and they never will again (Nat puts a stop to the vow-making before they can start bringing blood or spit into it). Bucky had never gone to that last summer camp seven years ago because he’d been in a car accident—thus also explaining his prosthetic, which both Steve, Tony, and Bruce _ooh_ s and _ahh_ s over, though for vastly different reasons. The phone number Steve had tried to call had been updated just before the accident, and the camp hadn’t had the new one on file. He’d never meant to leave Steve behind, had never grown tired of him as Steve had sometimes feared in his darkest hours.

He’d even tried to find Steve when he first arrived for college in New York three years ago. But Steve and his Ma had moved from the apartment they’d lived in when they were younger, so all Bucky had found was a building full of strangers and no clues as to the Rogers’ new whereabouts. He’d tried to look Steve up online before that, but since Steve’s never really done social media (apart from Twitter, and even then, he’s got a silly profile name that Bucky wouldn’t have known to look for) that was yet another dead end.

There are a great many _if only_ s and _what if_ s, but Steve doesn’t want to think of those now. They don’t matter. Despite all the things he didn’t do, Bucky’s come back to him, and Steve… well. He’s always been Bucky’s in some way or another.

After that, it gets a bit blurry. See the abovementioned flee-flowing alcohol.

“Why the toucans on your shirt?” Steve asks when he finally gets a closer look. There must be some sense to that hideous shirt. Maybe Bucky likes birds now?

“They remind me of ice lollies,” is the answer he gets, which… doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, but Bucky says it with a wry grin and soft eyes, and really, Steve would accept much stranger utterances than this as long as Bucky keeps smiling at him.

“This is cool,” Bucky says, running his thumb under Steve’s left ear and colorful the hearing aid therein. “Never seen one of these with a star on it. Design it yourself?”

“Yeah, Clint’s, too.”

There are so many things to learn, so many things to remember. Bucky is so free with his touches, tracing the span of Steve’s big shoulders, the dip of his waist, even the spell of his pectoral muscle. Steve blushes and beams and blushes some more, touching Bucky right back. Christ, those legs. His _jaw_. But those _thighs,_ God, Steve can’t believe it. And Bucky? Bucky encourages his touch, leans into it, lays himself out for Steve’s eager gaze and wandering hands, and oh, shit, they’re very much in public. Luckily, no one’s paying attention to their little quickly-turning-into-heavy-petting session, too busy listening to some far-fetched yet true tale of Thor’s.

“Come on,” Steve whispers and drags Bucky inside, ignoring the not-so-subtle catcalls following them in. Distracted or not, their friends can and will take any opportunity to be little shits.

The dragging turns to playful pushing turns to shoving, and before they know it, they’re in Steve’s room, the door is shut, and they’re alone. Steve is overwhelmed and it’s not enough. This isn’t how you hold a friend, even a long-lost one, but _it’s not enough, damn it,_ and Bucky smells good, especially at the junction of his neck and shoulder, sweet like toffee, sharp like spring, and he’s pulling Steve close, surrounding him. And he’s laughing, bouncing on his toes to get closer to Steve, because Steve is the taller one now, and it’s so strange, but they still fit, and Bucky shoves in close, tilts his head back and scrunches his whole face into a smile.

Steve can’t help it; he ducks his head and pecks Bucky on his scruffy cheek, blushing bright red all the while. His head is too foggy to be truly scared of the consequences. Bucky’s eyes go wide and everything stops for a moment. He cautiously touches the spot Steve had kissed, blinking slowly. Then, wonder of wonders, he giggles, a little shrill, a lot happy.

He grabs Steve by the neck, says, “I missed you so much,” and kisses the corner of his mouth, a long, firm press that makes all sense leak from Steve’s ears. He rubs their noses together, and he’s smiling, smiling as widely as he used to, nose-scrunch and all, and what is Steve to do but kiss that scrunch and keep kissing it when Bucky laughs and clutches him and says his name like that.

They fall into bed together. Nothing happens—well, nothing that comes with clean-up attached at least. They’re both too tipsy to do much but kiss and touch and laugh. Bucky tastes like sugar, like cider. He kisses like he never wants to stop, slow and hard and deep. He pulls Steve on top of him and holds him close, and they go to sleep like that, barely out of their restricting clothes. Bucky’s chest is wide and warm, his heartbeat wild at first, then steady as they come down from the euphoria of seeing each other again. They used to sleep like this as kids, though Steve was much lighter. But he still snores like he used to.

In the morning, Steve will wake up first.

He’ll be confused at first, there’s a guy in his bed, but then, he’ll remember. His heart will be in his throat as he looks down at Bucky. Bucky will have sleep crusted in his eyes, his hair will be a mess. It’ll be silky-soft despite the tangles, and Steve will pet it until Bucky wakes, then pet it some more when Bucky flops onto his chest with a grumpy-happy, “Too early, Ste’ie.”

For a moment, Steve will have doubts. The night before had passed so fast, it’d been too much and not enough, and they’d kissed, and what if it didn’t mean anything? What if they’ve ruined it before they’ve even had a second chance? But easy as anything, Bucky kisses him again, asks “Did you always feel like this, too?”

And Steve will whisper, “I’ve been in love with you all my life.”

Later, _hours_ later, Sam will sit down to breakfast with them (keep abreast of the situation via the one billion texts from their friends, half of which were just unholy screeching), stare Bucky down, and ask, “What are your intentions with—holy God, stop leering, _Steve_! Steve, do something! _STEVE_!”

Seven years apart is nothing when they get the rest of their lives together.


End file.
